Haunted

by Tredick Foster

  “She what?” Fiona exclaimed, coming out with her pants on and my navy blue dragon hoodie on. “Fucking shoved me against the wall, started talking about suffocating me in my sleep!” Russell went on. She shook her head, “Uh-uh, no. That’s not fucking ok.” She marched across the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the wall and started dialing.

  I hurried over to her, “Who are you calling?” Sternly, she told me “The cops!” I look over to Russell, shaking his head as he said, “Dude, don’t even try to stop her.” Clearly out-manned here, I just let it happen. Thinking back on it now, that’s definitely what needed to be done.

  Over the next several hours, my mom would come home to find the sheriff questioning us. Much to her horror, the situation would devolve from finding the cops at her house to Russell’s situation. Fiona ended up going home, being picked up by her mom. It just so happened that her mom and mine worked together at the time.

  We waited for hours to hear back from them. My mom ended up calling the sheriff's office twice for any kind of update. Both times, she said they told her they couldn’t tell her anything and both times, she remarked something didn’t feel right.

  While we were waiting in the living room, Russell had asked me “Wasn’t the last thing Freddie’s mom said to him something about his father coming home?” I remember nodding, “Yeah…” I pondered for a second and then asked, “You don’t think that it was his dad Freddie was afraid of, do you?” He shrugs, “ I’m sure as hell afraid of my mom right now, dude.”

  “Fiona said his father wasn’t abusive. Neither of his parents were.” I explained. He leaned in, “Neither was my mom before I got that book. Yeah, she was a bitch, but…” I ended up finishing, “But then you got the book.”

  It was right at that moment my mom walked in. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and simply said, “Russell, I just got off the phone with the sheriff.” We looked up in silence while she hesitated. With a sympathetic tone, she simply said “Your mom… attacked the sheriff and his deputy. They didn’t have a choice… She’s gone.”

  Russell was allowed to go to the house and grab his things. The house wasn’t a crime scene, since they’d apparently shot and killed his mom in the driveway. They didn’t let him stay there, for obvious reasons. He stayed at our place while he waited for his aunt to come from Maryland to pick him up.

  While he waited, we didn’t talk at all. He gave me the book without another word being spoken. After that day, I didn’t hear a word from Fiona. I remember calling her house and her mom would say she was at a Girl Scouts function. Few days later, that’s when I met the girl in the library…

  Chapter 22

  Mom had her hand around my throat, my back against my bedroom wall. I struggled to get free, but it was like her entire body was made of solid concrete. Her eyes were as black as the void. She had absolutely no expression whatsoever.

  I kept trying to knock her arm off by pounding on it with my right fist. I swear I’d hit her so hard that something, anything should’ve broke on a normal human being. Suddenly, she grabbed my fist, squeezing it tight enough to make me unclench.

  She just stared at my fingers for half a second. Suddenly, her head quickly tilted to her right. My index finger suddenly snapped all on it’s own, popping out of socket. Unbridled pain ripped through my arm. My knees buckled under me. I called out as loud as I could.

  Thunder cracked over the house, covering my calls of pain as the boom rattled the windows. A storm mercilessly hammered the town that day while I struggled for my life inside the 200 year-old house. My mom’s grip on my neck never loosened as I dangled there, unable to breathe anymore.

  Her head snapped in the other direction, along with it my middle finger. Tears flowed down my face instead of calls of pain. Working only on instinct, all I could do was bring my free hand up and start hitting her in the face. In my hand was the Necronomicon paperback. I thought maybe it had enough influence that it would make her let me go.

  If that’s what did it, then it was purely out of annoyance. When she let me go, I dropped straight to the floor. I held my broken hand to my chest, tightly. My fingers pointing outward to my front. I scrambled past my bathroom and the back door, past the laundry room and into the kitchen.

  Once I was in the kitchen, I quickly turned around. My mom wasn’t there. I remember wondering why she wasn’t following me. What I should’ve done was grabbed the plastic grinder of sea salt I’d set out on the counter and got done what needed to be done. Instead I had the bright idea to reset my fingers.

  I remembered what I’d seen in movies and on TV up to that point. With the book shoved under my right arm, I took my middle finger and pulled it up. It popped back into place and the pain that shot from my hand and up my arm sent me back to the ground.

  Lying on my right side, I squirmed around for a second, trying not to make any noise. Grabbing my index finger, I told myself over and over, “It needs to be done, it needs to be done.” I gripped my finger tight and reset it. This time I cried out as loud as I could, tears flowing down my face again. Lightning cracked over the house, covering my screams of pain.

  Holding my two fingers, I was surprised the book was still under my arm as I squirmed around the kitchen floor. I made it to my feet, snatching the sea salt grinder and shuffled into the living room. I’d left the doors to that damned wood stove wide open, so smoke had been pouring out of it for a while now. I’d left it open so the logs could have enough air to catch fire.

  I was halfway to the stove when I felt Mom’s hand slam onto my right shoulder. Her fingernails were like tiny blades that ripped through my shirt and into my skin. It was strong enough to put me to my knees in an instant. I cried out again, all energy leaving my body. Of course, I dropped the book and the salt rolled towards the stove.

  With the grip she had on me she drug me across the floor, picked me up and pinned me against the wall again. The living room was part of the original house, so I was pinned against log instead of drywall this time. I felt my back crack when she jerked me forward and pushed me one more time. Her nails were dug in good and deep.

  I stared into her voids where her eyes should’ve been. She leaned in close to whisper, “I am going to swallow your soul.” I closed my eyes, tears still streaming down my face. The only thing that was going through my mind at that point had been, “I’m going to die here… alone… In Potton…”

  For the longest time, I’d fought tooth and nail to try and leave Potton for good. Almost everyone here had it out for me. Teachers would come down on me harder than others. Store clerks still treat me like I’m some criminal. Neighbors will constantly complain I’m making too much noise, or that I’m trespassing.

  Everyone treated me like I was poison to the community. To this day, it’s a prejudice I still fight here and here alone. The only difference between then and now is that I have more friends and a vocation. Back then, all I had was one true friend who was gone and a girlfriend who’d disappeared entirely.

  Those thoughts quickly turned into anger. I was going to die in Potton. This town that my mom forced me to give up my family, friends and everything I knew for. I’d gone from a 10 year-old townhouse with central air to a 200 year-old house with a woodstove and ceiling fans. I went from a real bedroom over to a closet with a closet with only a ceiling fan and a baseboard heater that I wasn’t allowed to touch!

  I thought about my friends Rod and Reggie who lived next door. Them and the other neighborhood kids exploring the storm drains, trying to dam up the creek. I thought about Julia Sanchez. My elementary school crush I thought I’d missed my chance with until I saw her in my middle school. I thought about Evan and suddenly, I found myself gripping my mom’s wrist.

  Her fingers were still dug into my flesh. I managed to pick both my feet up. I thought back to her statement of her swallowing my soul while I growled, “Come fucking get it, then!” I lifted my legs up, put them in my mom’s chest and kicked as hard as I could. She let go as I sent her
across the living room and onto the couch. Of course, I was sent square on my ass yet again.

  Her fingernails tore out of my shoulder pretty quick. I grabbed my shoulder, holding it tight in a shitty effort to ease the pain. With my busted hand, I grabbed the book and made my way over to the salt shaker. I just stomped on it as hard as I could, having had it with all the bullshit. I knelt down, chucking the book into the fire, followed by a handful off salt and plastic bits.

  I fell back, tired as the adrenalin high started to fade. My two fingers were throbbing, my shoulder stung like a bitch. I’d had the thought that I needed to do something about my shoulder. I could feel the wetness growing. I wanted it to be sweat, but I knew I was bleeding out.

  That’s when I heard mom starting to cough. Looking over at her, she was hunched over, her whole body heaving. Slowly, I watched her eyes return from the void just before she spewed this black bile all over the floor. Staring at it in disgust, I realized it kinda had a faint greenish glow to it.

  My fascination suddenly turned to shock when the shit lept at me! I jumped back, leaving my wound open to try and block it with my good hand. Of course, that’s where the thing decided to sink it’s quickly formed tendrils into, into my goddamn shoulder. It didn’t just sting, like being stabbed again. It felt like a million little hypodermic needles sunk into my muscles.

  Back then, hentai wasn’t as prevalent as it now. On top of that, none of my friends were into that stuff. So, I had no idea what I was in store for, but it was pretty fucking clear it wasn’t going to be good.

  I grabbed the tentacles with my eyes shut tight, trying to pull the damn thing off. I knew I was in trouble when I felt it jerk me forward and then upward. I turned my focus from my shoulder to it and that’s when I saw it as it really looked. Today, the sight of it haunts me.

  The ceiling to the living room was exposed, showing the rafters. That’s where it had attached itself, like a wet, living spider web spread across a good four or five feet. Yellowish eyes would form, then pop like bubbles. Even it’s faint greenish glow couldn’t keep it from blending into the shadows.

  I started to panic, struggling and jerking around. I was desperate to do anything to get this thing to let me go. It’s disgusting smelling tentacles had dug into the muscle of my shoulder. The sting of it never subsided. When it yanked me up enough to take me off my feet for a second is when the fear really set in.

  I had to do something drastic. I knew I’d have to take my mind off my shoulder. I took my full weight and put it on the tentacles. I could feel it shift, my weight plus it’s own being too much for the rafters. My shoulder sent a reminder that this thing was dug into me and I cried out in pain and anger. By then, I was horse from all the screaming.

  Letting go for a second, I managed to scoop up what was left of the salt on the floor. I then quickly slapped the salt onto the tendrils and I heard a hiss, like it was burning the thing. It let go of me, reeling back in pain. Falling on my ass again, I could hear this unearthly screech in my head, no doubt how this fucker communicated.

  I had to get the fuck out of there. It managed to let me go and I wasn’t about to waste my dumb luck. I needed to get past this thing and get my mom out of there. Looking up at the thing, it started to crawl towards me from the rafters. I could see where it cracked the two beams once it had moved.

  About the same time I realized my vision getting blurry. I also felt my busted hand feel really wet. I looked at it, blood dripping down my fingertips. I’d taken a lot of damage and I was about to pass out. Whatever I was about to do, I needed to do it fast!

  The next crack of lightning was deafening as it exploded. I was blinded for a few seconds, ears ringing, unsure of what exactly happened. When my vision came back, I saw the thing writhing and flailing around on the ground. It was smoking. I looked up at where it used to be and saw a smoldering hole in the ceiling. “You gotta be fucking kidding me!” I exclaimed.

  I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking at the time, except I’d felt exhausted. I shuffled over to this thing as it squirmed around, tentacles flicking out, around and back into itself. It had gone from a living liquid to a thicker, pulsating mass. I looked at it for a few seconds in disgust and anger before I managed to scoop-kick it into the still-open stove.

  Moving as quickly as I could, I slammed the stove doors shut, locking it, spinning the vents shut and closing the flue. That thing wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. After that, it’s all a blurry mess of memories. I remember more lightning strikes, but I didn’t look back to see the damage of most of them.

  I do know the very next lightning strike hit the wood stove. I did look back at that one, managing to see it dented pretty good and slightly deformed. My memory of it has me seeing a lot of the moving parts melted, which put me at ease. That thing inside was never getting out.

  I had my mom leaning on my good shoulder, my busted and bloody hand holding hers. We limped out of the house and into the pouring rain. I could barely see, operating on memory alone as we made it down two sets of concrete stairs and into the street. It’s a miracle we didn’t get hit by any cars as we made it to the other side.

  I don’t remember setting her down, propping her against the fence or collapsing beside her. I do remember my back to the fence as I weakly watched our house burn to the ground. Later I’d learn that a total of 7 lightning bolts struck the house. Lucky number seven.

  I couldn’t catch my breath, sitting there in the rain. Something inside me said this was it… and I was okay with that. In what I’d expected to be my last act in this world, I limply lifted my right hand. It trembled with no energy left in it at all. Bloody, broken and in the pouring rain, I managed to raise my bloody, swollen, throbbing middle finger. Giving a weak smirk as I said, “Fuck off…”

  My hand fell to the brick sidewalk. Everything started to fade to darkness. It felt good to drift into it. I took a heavy sigh. I felt relaxed, finally. The sound of rain slowly faded into a quiet ringing in my ear. Then…blackness.

  Chapter 23

  “So that’s where that hoodie went.” I said. Fiona jumped as she closed the apartment door. She was wearing my dragon hoodie. One look at me and she was a mix of shock and horror. My arm in a sling, my two fingers in splints. My neck still all bruised up. “Thought I’d lost it for good.” I added in a low, smart-assed tone.

  “I’ve got to go.” She said, avoiding looking at me entirely. She pushed passed me, bumping into my bum arm. I groaned in pain and she looked back up at me. She didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes reflected regret and a silent apology.

  She quickly made her way down the hallway stairs as I said in a condescending tone, “Nah, that’s ok. I’m fine.” She didn’t respond, so I continued “I spent a week in the hospital. First two days in a coma, actually. Best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.”

  She still wouldn’t respond as I chased after her, continuing to explain “Cleared my mom of attempted murder charges. Turns out demonic possession is a good way to get off the hook, did you know that? That thing I pulled out of her wasn’t a demon, but fuck it!”

  She burst out the door and into the parking lot. I was close behind as I kept on, “Mom got a new house pretty fucking quick. This one is only 50 years old and it has central air this time.” I stopped and she just kept walking. “Guess your scout leader up there is taking better care of you, huh?”

  She stopped, whipped around and screamed, “How the fuck did you even find me?” I nonchalantly shrugged, “Turns out I had a problem finding you. So I fucking solved it, like I did yours.” She marches back over to me, scolding “Nobody fucking asked you to!” I nodded with a smirk, “Actually, your mom asked me to find you.”

  She laughed in an offended tone, “What, did she pay you old stripper photos of her?” I legitimately laughed, “No, she paid me $100, but I wouldn’t have turned those down.” She went to slap me, but I ended up gently backhanding the palm of her hand. “Sorry,” I explained, “after the
shit I went through, my reflexes are a little high strung.”

  “Speaking of payment,” I quip with a low tone, “I guess I’ll count losing my virginity as services rendered for cleaning up your fuck up.” Her face reflects complete confusion, “How is it my fault now?” I nod, “Oh, thanks for asking. See, the one thing that’s been bugging me for the last couple weeks was why Freddie had the Necronomicon.”

  She had a quick flash of panic in her eyes just before she turned around and started walking again. I followed her pretty closely as I continued, “It was also bugging me how you were so gung-ho on helping Russell with his abusive mom, but you dropped off the face of the earth when I needed you the most. So, I started putting some pieces together and found some others on top of that.”

  I kept on as we continued through the parking lot, “Turns out you’re pretty handy with black magic, at least that’s what I gathered when your mom let me search your room for clues to where you were. The Lesser Key of Solomon, grimoires on top of grimoires, even a bunch of printed papers on Jason Locke’s research.

  “What was more interesting is what I didn’t find. A nice little space where a certain paperback would fit rather nicely.” She stops dead in her tracks, not saying a word or even turning around. I take a beat, waiting to look in her eyes.

  When she doesn’t turn around, I just continue. “The thing about black magic enthusiasts is they’re a spoiled bunch. However, I’d put my money on you still had a shred of conscience when you put me on Freddie’s - I’m sorry, your case.”

  I take a beat before I stop beating around the bush. “See, I called Russell the other day and he told me Freddie knew you through him. The two of them used to play that Magic card game together, but you don’t. In fact, the only reason you and him ever met is because he wanted to get into the dark arts.”